One Wish Away (18 page)

“How come you don't wear a lab coat?” I ask in a curious, lighter voice. I like her. I don't want her to think I'm spoiled. Too many people think that already.

Iris gives me a half smile and grabs another tool off the table. “Because I'm more than a scientist. The lab coats aren't required. Everyone else wears them because it makes them feel elite.” Her head peeks around the corner and she adds, “Plus, white isn't my color. White on black all the time? Puh-lease. It's not like I need something else amplifying the fact I'm the only black girl running around these parts.”

“I…I…” I have no idea what to say to that. I haven't met many others who work here so I didn't know.

Iris waves her hand and shakes her head, relieving a bit of the uncomfortable feeling between us. “I don't really mind. But it's not like we have a large workforce and it's not like we'll be hiring soon.” Her eyebrow again rises as her gaze meets mine.

I get it. I took a spot that could have been for someone else. Someone more qualified.

I jump off the table and stand in front of the machine.

“Do you need help?”

“Yes, I do. We need to put a new cooling unit on this baby.”

I kneel down to her level and proceed to do everything she tells me to. Hold this. Twist that. Lift over here. As we go along Iris explains what each part of the machine does.

“What's your degree in, Iris?” Sweat drips down my back after holding up half the machine for a few minutes. After all, I'm working with zero muscle here.

“Mechanical Engineering.” She grunts as she twists a bolt then stands and rubs her hands together. “Your aunt brought me on when she needed the machine built, after all of their initial experiments were done.” She laughs. “I tell ya, you thought
you
had issues believing in this stuff. It took me a week before I even stepped foot into this place again.”

I laugh with her and watch as she removes her outer sweater, leaving a white tank top and pink bra straps. It feels as though my whole flannel shirt is drenched in sweat so I decide to follow suit, taking off my long sleeves, and sigh when my skin has a chance to breathe.

“Well, look at you girl! I did not expect
that
under your flannel shirts.”

I look down at my white spaghetti strap shirt. I cross my arms over myself, realizing my thin freckled arms are on display.

Iris is perfect. If there's a flaw, it's well hidden. But I didn't think she'd point out the defects in how I looked. She didn't seem like the girls at school.

Iris walks over to me and pulls my arms down, holding them out as if she's going to ask me to try and fly next.

“You've got a
very
cute figure. Why in heaven's name would you bury it under
that
all the time?” She gestures to my sweaty top balled up behind the machine and then to my baggy pants.

“What do you mean?” There's nothing to me. I'm practically one color. Not even a color, really. Just white with connect-the-dots and blondish-red hair to emphasis how white I am.

“Honey, you're kidding, right?” Her eyes grow and so does her smile as I watch her walk around me. This is
not
the conversation I thought we'd have while working.

But then again, it's Iris.

“Uh-no.”

She looks me up and down, and then gets back to sticking her head under the unit. Through the clangs and grunts she says, “If you got it, flaunt it, honey. No shame in that.” Another grunt, then she pokes her head out. “Hand me the Hex Key wrenches.”

I turn to the small table with a toolbox full of equipment and give her a blank stare.

She smiles. “The ones on the far left.”

I am so out of my element right now. I know virtually nothing about tools, electronics or ‘flaunting it'.

I hand her the tool and her head disappears.

“I'm not suggesting drastically altering your wardrobe. Just that it doesn't hurt to change things up a bit– shit. Screwdriver, please.”

As I hand her the screwdriver, I laugh.

“I guess I've never put much stock into what I wear,” I say. “I like being comfortable, so I can study and stuff. I mean, those desks aren't comfortable to begin with, let alone if your arms and legs are sticking to them every time you try to move.”

After the screwdriver's fixed the problem, Iris stands and places the tools on the small table. “I like you, Lyra. You're refreshingly different. Completely honest. Incredibly smart. You have confidence in your abilities.” Her eyes leave the table of tools and find mine. “But you have very little confidence in yourself as the whole package. And all I'm saying is, you should.”

My thoughts drift to the foreign clothes camped out in the front of my closet. The ones my mother suggested I wear.

Maybe, just maybe, she's got a point.

“What are you doing? Where are you taking me?”

Shouting erupts from the Universe Room. Iris' eyes grow wide, as wide as mine feel. She pushes off from the small table and takes off running. I sprint after her. We fly around the dome, the yelling from the man propelling us faster. The door slams open against the outside wall, skewing the projection and illuminating the faces of those in front of us.

“Carl?” I whisper, trying to catch my breath. What are they doing with Carl?

It's the first time I've seen him without his giant smile, careless demeanor. There's two guards holding him, he's flailing his arms. Eyes wide, muscles taunt.

“Where are you taking me? What have I done?” Carl screams.

“You know what you've done.” Secretary Morgan moves to stand in front of him. “Enough of this. Get him out of here. Take him to my car.”

Iris places a hand on my shoulder and then takes a step toward Carl and the other men. “What's going on?”

My eyes skirt the employees now gathered in the middle of the SEAD building. Aunt Steph, Dad, Dr. Bennett. Practically everyone is watching now.

“I said, get him out of here,” Morgan growls and the two guards pull Carl toward the entrance.

“Don't do this! Let me explain! Listen to me. Please!” His screams are silenced when the door slams behind him.

All I hear is breathing. Mine. Iris's. Morgan's.

“What is going on?” Iris asks again.

Morgan slides his hand down his face. Takes a deep breath. The door from the Lyra Room is still open so I can make out the faces of most of those around me.

“Carl was caught talking to an outsider about the Cricket Project.” Morgan's eyes meet mine. “We all know what a serious offense that is. He's being brought in for questioning. If found guilty…” He lets the sentence fade.

I take a step forward. “Then what? What's going to happen to him?”

The Secretary takes another deep breath. “That's for the government to decide.” His eyes snap shut and he turns on his heel, following Carl and the guards' exit. When the door closes behind him, no one moves. No one speaks.

Carl. I can't believe Carl would do something like that. He seems like such a nice, smart guy. Who would he have told? What was he thinking?

Why would he put this whole project at risk?

I can't get his screams out of my head. And I can't get the questions to stop either.

Why?

I let my eyes focus on the mirror in front of me, trying to blot out the vision of Carl being shoved out the SEAD doors. Morgan's hard gaze.

How we all stood there, doing nothing.

But what could we do?

I take a deep breath and force myself to look at the girl in the mirror. There's nothing I can do for Carl. Tonight's supposed to be fun.

But he…

No, Lyra
. I ball up my fists. Tonight's supposed to be fun. Focus.

The skinny jeans, black flats and fitted flannel shirt become front and center in my mind. Turns out Mom and Iris might be onto something. I look like… myself.

And yet different. I turn in the mirror. There's more of a shape in my profile. And I have a butt. A small one, but it's there. It seems the secret to clothing in general is to make sure it fits. Except…

I need some sort of necklace to go with this. Shuffling through my jewelry box reveals nothing that will work. The few necklaces I own are too fancy. Like, wedding fancy.

Hmm…

A vision of the beautiful pendant my mother wore recently flashes in my mind. What are mothers for if you can't borrow their jewelry for a date?

And she's not here to ask, so it's perfect.

I scurry down the hall and into my parents' bedroom. My father has actually been sleeping in the guest bedroom so I guess a more accurate description of this room would be my mother's.

With the flick of a light switch, I'm transported to a life I've never lived, with a woman I don't understand. The walls are blue, the furniture contemporary and elegant. There are no pictures of family or friends. Just artwork. And even though it's immaculate, beautiful, perfect. It makes me sad.

I shake it off. I'm on a mission.

Now if I were her jewelry, where would I be?

I open a few drawers. There's nothing on the dresser. So I cross the room and enter the closet. Sure enough, there stands a tall, oak cabinet with every type of accessory imaginable. Since she wore the dark blue pendant recently, it's near the front. I grab it, my heart in my throat.

I throw the door closed but a bracelet manages to swing off its resting place and fly across the closet. Sighing loudly, I rush over to pick it up. Not more than a few inches away, tucked behind a few rows of shoes, is a grey lockbox, glinting with hidden secrets.

And because I am my father's daughter, I have to find out what's inside.

My eyes drift among the things in the closet. I try the hiding places closest to me first. Check a few dress pockets, behind the pants, up by her assortment of hats. And then I think, where would I hide this key? Because, while I am my father's daughter, I am my mother's too.

My gaze instantly goes to the shoes and within a second I'm checking the oldest pair she owns. A pair she would use if she had to mow the yard or prune the bushes, which I'm sure she never does.

Inside the right tennis shoe, my fingers wrap around the cool metal. Shaking, I pull out the key and slide it into the lock. I'm holding my breath, my jaw is set.

A yellow notebook sits on top with pages and pages of shorthand. It's almost impossible to read and I'm in such a rush I try a few lines and then toss it to the side. Underneath is an envelope, fat at the bottom. I pry open the metal tabs, inhale sharply as one jabs me under the nail. But the pain instantly ceases when I pull out the first picture.

And the next.

And the next.

Every picture is of a wound, a bruise, a scrape. Some are on the arms, the legs. There's a large bruise on a stomach and what looks to be a burn on a hand.

The hand gives it away, because I recognize her wedding ring.

So by the time I look at the last pictures of my mother's face, I know this is an evidence box. That the notes on the paper must be places and times and dates. These pictures are the proof she needs…or needed.

Who did this to her?

My heart stops. It couldn't be Dad.

Could it?

Every part of me is cold, shivering, as I reach for the last envelope in the box.
Please tell me who it is
.

Pictures of my mother with another man, smiling, handsome, charming, look back at me. They're in a tropical location. Having dinner high on a hilltop. She's blowing out candles on a birthday cake, all the while beaming at the person behind the camera.

I want to crush the last picture in my hand. It's a picture of the two of them, location unknown. She's happy, and he appears so too.

I understand now. When mom felt pushed out of her life with my father due to his obsession with work, she went to this man.

And he hurt her too.

Tears run down my face for a woman I'm just beginning to understand. While it doesn't make it okay for her to treat me, my father, Darren, the way she does, it helps to explain why.

And I feel the need to try and understand more.

The doorbell rings. I jump and hit my head on a shelf. With a hiss, I put the bracelet away, throw the necklace on and run downstairs, my head full of my mother's past.

Dad reaches the door before I get there.

“Darren! Hello there, son. How are things?”

“Good, Dr. Altair. Very good.” Darren sticks his hands in the back pockets of his jeans, and searches the house behind my father. He must be looking for Mom. But Dad and I planned it so she'd still be at work when Darren came to get me.

Darren catches my eye and quickly gives me a concerned once over. I told him about the stunt SEAD and the Secretary played on me. He wasn't as upset as I was, though he is one of the “normal” civilians so I guess he's going to have to get used to it.

“You ready to go?”

“Hey, Lyra?” He does the once over thing again and I'm thinking I got the reason for the first once over wrong. He wasn't checking for any residual affects after my interrogation.

He was checking me out.

As his eyes come back up to mine I swear my temperature spikes.

“You look...”

Dad passes an amused look over Darren, who isn't paying attention to him, and then glances at me again. “She looks like Lyra,” he says with a smile. After an awkward pat on the back, which is supposed to be a hug, we say our goodbyes and attempt to get out the door.

But not before my mother's car pulls in the driveway.

“Shit,” I mumble.

“Lyra, help me with the groceries,” she yells as she steps out of the car. I turn to look at Dad and Darren and then trudge down the sidewalk.

After she's placed two bags in my hands she says, “I didn't know you were headed anywhere tonight.” A flick of her head forces my eyes to Darren and my father in the window. “When were you going to tell me?”